Free Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came by MC Beaton

ashamed of yourself.’
    Agatha made for the garden gate. One of her high-heeled shoes got caught in a loose brick on the path and she stumbled and nearly fell. ‘Get out o’ here,’ shouted the woman. ‘And sober up!’
    Agatha felt that the walk to her car was the longest she had ever taken. She did not even feel safe when she was in her car. She accelerated out of the car park at speed.
    John Armitage had cut short his stay in London and was making his way leisurely down the road into Carsely when a car he recognized as his neighbour’s shot past him and hurtled off in front of him. ‘Crazy driver,’ he muttered.
    He proceeded at a reasonable rate and then parked in front of his cottage. Before he switched off his headlights, he saw his neighbour’s car and that she was still in it, hunched over the wheel.
    He was about to open the gate and go in when he hesitated. Maybe she was ill.
    John approached Agatha’s car cautiously and then looked in the window. She had her face in her hands and her shoulders were heaving. He rapped on the glass.
    Agatha straightened up and gave him a look of wild terror.
    He opened the car door. ‘I’m John Armitage. Your neighbour. We haven’t really met. Is there anything I can do?’
    Agatha took a tissue out of a box on the seat beside her and blew her nose. ‘I had a fright,’ she blurted out. ‘They tried to kill me.’
    ‘Was it road rage? I’ll call the police for you.’
    Agatha shook her head. She had been crying because, unnerved as she was, she had been feeling terribly alone. No Charles or James or even Roy to comfort her.
    ‘Would you like a brandy or something?’
    Agatha gave a choked sob. Then she said, ‘Help me indoors and I’ll tell you about it.’
     
Chapter Four
    Once indoors, Agatha settled John in the living room with a drink and went upstairs. She removed the wig and glasses and put on fresh make-up, reflecting that the best treatment for shock must surely be the company of a good-looking man.
    John looked up as she entered. She certainly had made a remarkable recovery, he thought.
    Agatha poured herself a shot of brandy and sat down opposite him.
    ‘Thank you for your help,’ she said. ‘I don’t want the police to know about this. You see, someone’s just tried to kill me.’
    He did not exclaim or protest that she should indeed tell the police, but merely looked at her questioningly.
    She began to tell him all about the death of Kylie and about how she was masquerading as a television producer. John Armitage smiled.
    ‘What’s so funny?’ demanded Agatha.
    ‘It explains the blond wig. You should really take it off before you return to Carsely. Your disguise has caused a lot of speculation. Mrs Anstruther-Jones thinks she has the answer.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘That you have a toy-boy and are striving to look younger.’
    Agatha’s face flamed with anger. ‘Silly old bat.’
    ‘Go on. You were telling me about this mystery.’
    So Agatha proceeded to tell him the rest of it, ending up by saying that she did not want to report the attempt on her life because the police would be furious with her.
    ‘So what are you going to do now?’
    ‘Go on. If I got attacked just because I was trying to see Harry McCoy, then he might be the clue I need.’
    He looked at her thoughtfully and then he said, ‘You’ve done this sort of thing before?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Agatha. She was about to brag about other cases, but her knees began to shake. She was still not over her shock. Had she shown off in her usual way, then John Armitage would have lost interest in her. But the very fact that she was not flirting or simpering or trying to impress him endeared her to him.
    ‘You show a great deal of courage,’ he said. ‘Were you always on your own when things like this happened before?’
    ‘I usually had someone helping me. My ex-husband, James, or a friend, Charles. But I’m on my own in this one. I must admit I had a bad fright. I might leave